


Yours

by InnerMuse



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Battlements scene, But he's just not a great fit for my Inquisitor, Cullen being silly, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Hints of dom/sub undertones, In-game Dialogue, Kissing, Like omigosh that kissing, Mostly resolved romantic tension, Mutual Pining, Not that dom!Cullen isn't incredibly sexy, Unresolved Romantic Tension, it will be resolved soon, sub!cullen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-04-30 01:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5144843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerMuse/pseuds/InnerMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen is in love with the Inquisitor; the Inquisitor has a massive crush on Cullen.</p><p>The first kiss on the battlements, but with extra dialogue, and lots of sappy introspection first. Super fluffy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unrequited

The Commander of the Inquisition's forces was, unsurprisingly, stuck in his office. Paperwork was the lifeblood of the Inquisition, more so than soldiers or even gold. It was boring and interminable, but it was necessary, and Cullen was never one to shirk a duty. So, he did not complain as he worked his way through one of the ever-present stacks of papers that seemed to materialize on his desk. The Inquisitor had just returned from the Western Approach, and her latest report from the oasis there held pride of place off to one side. He'd read it immediately, of course – it was important to keep up to date with her findings. As Inquisitor, her reports were of particular importance, and it wouldn't do to be unprepared if there were any urgent business that required the war council's attention.

Of course, while all of those things were true, none of them were the real reason he always read the Inquisitor's reports as soon as possible. He smiled wryly to himself as he signed off on yet another requisition. There was no point in dancing around the matter, not in the privacy of his own head: truthfully, he read her reports first because he was madly in love with her. And this was not a recent development. He had realized it just after the destruction of Haven – too late, or so he thought – when she sacrificed herself so the rest of the Inquisition could escape. Her supposed death had hit him like a knife to the chest, the pain of it nearly enough to drive him to his knees. Only the knowledge that his soldiers and the civilians of Haven had needed him to be strong had kept him upright. And then she had stumbled out of the night, exhausted and hypothermic, but gloriously, miraculously alive. Cullen had not thanked the Maker with as much fervor as he did then since the Hero of Fereldan had appeared in Kinloch Hold.

Grimacing, the Commander pushed aside his unpleasant reminiscences and grabbed the next report in his pile. If he was going to think about the Inquisitor (which of course he was), he would much rather focus on all the things he liked about her (which was, naturally, everything). She was capable, confident, and charismatic; strong in body and spirit alike; quick-witted, both on and off the battlefield... She expected nothing but the best from herself and her allies, yet raised up everyone around her to meet those expectations. She treated everyone with respect, and in so doing won that respect back tenfold. In short, she was an inspiration.

And if that wasn't enough, she was entrancing, especially on the training grounds: equally skilled with both a warrior's longsword and a duelist's rapier, her natural grace combined with the precision born from years of training made her positively alluring. Cullen had lost more than one sparring match after being driven to distraction by the elegance and fluidity of her form. Or the flash of her feral grin, bright against cheeks flushed with exertion. Or the way her sweaty tunic would cling to her body, hugging her curves just enough to drive him half mad with tantalizing glimpses...

Cullen mentally shook himself out of his reverie when he realized the ink on his quill had gone dry. He had no excuse for pining like a blushing maid when there was work to be done. He may be in love with the Inquisitor, but he'd long since accepted this as a fact of life, and vowed not to let it interfere with either their duties or their friendship. He already spent as much time with her as he dared, perhaps more than he should – they sparred, they played chess, they shared drinks in the tavern on free evenings. He could spend hours just talking with her, discussing strategy, or history, or theology, or, well, anything, really. He even looked forward to debriefings and council meetings – her presence could turn an otherwise tedious ordeal into something enjoyable. She brightened his life just by passing through it.

Even when nothing official brought them together, the Inquisitor would often stop by his office. There was always a reason – delivering a report, passing through on the way to a meeting – but she nevertheless managed to pause, every time, for a few minutes of pleasantries and a smile. He would smile back, of course, the expression lingering even once she'd gone. He wondered, sometimes, why she came in person instead of sending a messenger; wondered if, perhaps, she wanted an excuse to seek him out, to enjoy his company—

Cullen always tried to stop that line of thought before it progressed too far. There was no sense in imagining the unattainable. It was enough just to love her from afar. Enough to bask in the warm glow her smile kindled in his chest; to let his mind wander to thoughts of her while he worked; to steal glances over the war table when no one was looking. He would not risk her camaraderie turning to pity, or worse, scorn, when she invariably rejected his advances. And anyway, she deserved better than a half-broken ex-Templar with a troubled past and an uncertain future. He was her friend and her advisor, nothing more, and he wouldn't delude himself into thinking it could be otherwise. That was enough. It had to be enough.

And if he sometimes lay awake at night, heart aching, as he cursed his own cowardice and yearned desperately for a look, a touch, a kiss... Well, he could endure it. That was just the price he had to pay for her presence in his life. And he would not give that up, not for anything.

Cullen turned back to his reports with a heavy sigh. He told himself that it had nothing to do with the Inquisitor, and everything to do with the amount of paperwork still piled high on his desk. When he repeated the thought with enough conviction, he could almost believe it was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Cullen has some self-esteem issues :(


	2. Entirely Inappropriate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my Inquisitor. Her name is Kelandris, and I love her to pieces (but probably not as much as Cullen). :)
> 
> I wasn't sure if this should be T or M so I bumped it up to be safe. Mind the new tags.

Inquisitor Kelandris Trevelyan sprawled languidly in her bath. As much as she enjoyed being out in the field, she always looked forward to returning to the comforts of Skyhold. She leaned back against the side of her large copper tub, humming contentedly as the hot water relaxed taught muscles and cleansed the dust of travel (and less pleasant things) from her pores. After a long time away, most of which was spent wandering through the wilderness, there was nothing better than being greeted with a hot bath.

Well... almost nothing. She could think of something she would rather be greeted with. Or, more precisely, someone. Grabbing the lilac-scented soap from its ledge (thank you, Josephine), she started scrubbing off the dirt and miscellaneous viscera that always accumulated during her travels. Her thoughts drifted to her Commander, as they often did. Technically, he already greeted her upon her return from fieldwork, but only to inquire after the mission and accept her initial report. Of course he would say hello, as well, but that was not what she had in mind. Not for the first time, Kelandris wondered what it would be like to be wrapped in his embrace instead, scarred lips pressed to hers in a thoroughly nonverbal welcome.

With no one around to hear her, she indulged in a dreamy sigh. She may be the high-and-mighty Inquisitor, but there was no reason she couldn't swoon over her Commander like a schoolgirl while in the privacy of her own quarters. She did not think he was interested in a relationship, unfortunately – the word _fraternization_ came to mind – but thinking about it was certainly an enjoyable diversion. And speaking of diversions... She paused in the middle of lathering her shoulders and looked down at herself, considering. It would be easy enough to close her eyes and imagine Cullen's calloused fingers in place of her own – how they'd slide sensuously down her soap-slicked sides, then trace a teasing trail back upwards to cup her breasts...

No. The thought was enticing, but entirely inappropriate. Sighing again, regretfully this time, the Inquisitor resumed washing. On a personal level, Cullen was clearly interested – it really was a shame she couldn't pursue him.

Unless...

She had held off on approaching him because he had made no move to instigate, despite his visible affection for her. The obvious explanation was that he wished to avoid any potential conflicts of interest. Technically, however, Cullen was her advisor, not her subordinate. And he had no trouble voicing objections in the war room, regardless of any personal feelings he harbored. She had no reservations about his ability to separate business from pleasure, nor her own. If he was uncomfortable with the idea of a relationship, of course, she would let it be. But, if he was holding back because he thought _she_ was uncomfortable... Well, she would happily disabuse him of _that_ notion.

The explanation seemed almost stupidly obvious in hindsight. Water splashed as Kelandris scrubbed a little harder than necessary, exasperated at her own obliviousness. She had not tried to be subtle in making her interest known, but neither had she been particularly blatant. And therein lay the problem. She had grown up among the nobility; the Free Marches may be tame compared to Orlais, but the aristocracy there played the Game nevertheless. Cullen, in contrast, was refreshingly straightforward. As a Templar, he would have had little reason to be exposed to the machinations of the court. Consequently, her definition of "subtle" was probably vastly different than his. And even if he had picked up on her hints, he may have dismissed them as wishful thinking. Her Commander could be alarmingly self-deprecating. It was no surprise that he wouldn't believe she was interested unless she spelled it out for him.

Which she would. Soon. Her gentle flirting must have been driving the poor man mad, smitten as he was. While she couldn't do anything about that now, she _could_ make it up to him – thoroughly – at the earliest possible opportunity.

Not even the prospect of wooing her Commander could convince her to rush through her bath, however. She took entirely too much pleasure in the feel of hot water running down her skin, carrying away the filth and weariness of travel. Her eyes closed as she rinsed off the suds, luxuriating in the way her wet hands slid across her body. With thoughts of Cullen at the forefront of her mind, she couldn't help but linger over her curves longer than was strictly necessary. It was so tempting to let her imagination run wild, to picture her Commander beside her in the tub. The soapy water would run in rivulets down his naked chest, outlining his sculpted muscles in sensual detail. If she asked, he would no doubt happily rub the tension from her shoulders, with his deft, strong fingers. Maybe he would press a kiss against her neck, breath tickling her ear as he murmured a reply – _"As my lady wishes..."_ Perhaps he might even show her what else he could do with those clever hands—

And that was absolutely enough of that. She _would_ keep her thoughts appropriate. It was not as if she only liked him for his body, after all. Her Commander – and when had she started thinking of him as hers? – was fiercely loyal and cared deeply for their cause. His determination and perseverance were unmatched, his prowess as both a soldier and a leader second to none. When with the troops, he was equal parts kind and stern, gently coaching the timid to greatness while guiding the wayward back into line with a firm hand. He tolerated no disrespect or prejudice, correcting miscreants with an iron fist and a steely glare. Under his guidance, the Inquisition's army had turned from a ragtag band of recruits into a dangerously competent fighting force, faster than she'd have thought possible.

And that was just as a general. As a man, Cullen was earnest and intelligent, courteous and attentive. When he was confident, his conversation was impassioned and engaging. Even when he wasn't, though, she found his stutters endearing. It was rare that she could get him to truly relax, but it was worth it when he did. The hardships of his past and present would fall away, leaving him sweet and playful, almost boyish. She treasured those moments, the way his whole face would light up when he laughed or smiled – especially at her. Once, out for drinks in the tavern, she had glanced back from refilling their tankards to see him gazing unguardedly after her. The gentle grin on his face had been utterly breathtaking.

She liked that smug little smirk he wore when he beat her at chess, as well. And the slight curl of his lips when he greeted her in the war room. For that matter, she enjoyed it whenever he smiled. She was glad she could make him happy – from what she knew of her Commander's past, he could use more good things in his life.

Heavier reasons aside, his smiles also did delightful things to that scar of his. Things that made her wonder what it would feel like against her lips. Realizing the direction her thoughts were headed, again, Kelandris paused. She rolled her eyes as she worked soap into her hair. There was no help for it, apparently. She could hardly go ten minutes without circling back to her rather-less-than-decent preoccupation with her Commander. Still, it was not her fault the man was damnably attractive. Being that handsome really ought to be illegal. She chuckled at the thought that followed: as Inquisitor, she had jurisdiction over Skyhold, at least – if it wasn't already a crime, she could very well make it one.

 _That_ would certainly lead to an interesting trial. She could just imagine it: sitting enthroned on the dais in the Great Hall, with Cullen standing indignantly below her. Josephine, at her side, would read the charges, deadpan: _"Commander Cullen,"_ the Ambassador would intone, _"You have been brought before us for your devastating good looks..."_ It certainly made for an amusing picture, if a completely ridiculous one.

But of course, her imagination did not stop there. Maybe Josephine would not be present – maybe it would be just her and Cullen, alone. And maybe... he would not be standing. He would kneel, deferent, gloriously bare-chested with wrists bound lightly in front of him, his golden eyes smoldering up at her through lowered lashes...

Oh, Sweet Maker. Hands fisting in her hair, Kelandris drew a shuddering breath, barely suppressing a moan on the exhale. This line of thought was entirely, utterly inappropriate, and she ought to be ashamed of herself. Which she might have been, except the image of Cullen on his knees was just so incredibly _erotic_ that she couldn't quite bring herself to care. She closed her eyes and leaned back in the tub, allowing herself a few moments of fantasy. There was no way she could banish that mental picture otherwise. _"Commander. For your penance,"_ she would say, _"You are hereby ordered to make reparations, to me, personally."_ And oh, would he ever...

Too soon, she forced herself to sit up and set aside the thoughts of her Commander's enthusiastic repentance. With such an image in the forefront of her mind, she would not trust herself to finish her bath without resorting to more... carnal pursuits. And that was a line she was not willing to cross: she would not pleasure herself to thoughts of Cullen, not without being romantically involved. Fortunately, if he would have her, Kelandris intended to become so. Until then, however, she would keep her hands from wandering as best she could. And before too long, she would seek out her Commander and remove any doubt in his mind that she could care for him. Because she could, and did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tsk, tsk, a little naughty there Kelandris?
> 
> I've always found it a little weird when people write Inquisitors pleasuring themselves to thoughts of their LIs pre-relationship (or vice versa), so I intentionally had her find it weird as well. Fantasizing is definitely alright, though.


	3. Unprofessional Behavior

Unsurprisingly, Kelandris found her Commander in his office. He looked up when she pushed open the door, immediately setting down his quill when he saw it was her.

"Inquisitor! I was just thinking about—" he broke off, clearing his throat, and started over. "That is, was there something you needed? Are we debriefing so soon? Your report didn't mention anything urgent—"

She waved away his concern, smiling at his rush to greet her. It was impossible not to smile when faced with such enthusiasm. How had she thought him uninterested in pursuing her? The idea seemed absurd, now.

"No, no, tomorrow morning as usual will be fine. I'm actually here for a more personal matter," she said firmly. Cullen rose as she approached his desk, his eyes never leaving her face, reports forgotten. His ears had gone pink, she noticed. "We need to talk. Alone," she added.

"Alone?" He repeated, startled, then quickly backtracked, "I-I mean, of course." He gestured at the door on her right. "We could take a walk?"

"An excellent suggestion," she agreed. Her Commander moved around the desk to fall into step beside her. She glanced sideways at him as they started along the ramparts, taking a moment to admire his precise posture and easy bearing despite at least forty pounds of plate armor. There were not many knights who could make it look so effortless. After a short distance, Cullen broke the silence.

"It's... a nice day."

"What?" She cocked an amused eyebrow at the non-sequitur.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, as was his habit. "I mean— there was something you wished to discuss."

"Certainly not the weather." She gave him a coy half-smile that she knew would make him blush – he really was adorable when he was blushing. Cullen did not disappoint.

"I assumed that much," he said, smirking wryly despite the flush creeping up his cheeks.

She huffed a laugh, but sobered quickly – she had teased him enough. She did not want to make light of this, and give him any more cause to be unsure of her. Drawing a breath, Kelandris broached the subject they had been dancing around for far too long. "I've seen the way you look at me, Cullen."

To her mild alarm, he sucked in a sudden breath and flinched – it was as if she had struck him. His hand came down from the back of his neck to rest on the pommel of his sword. Gaze snapping to the middle distance, he braced to something approximating attention. "I owe you an apology, Inquisitor."

Oh, Maker, no. She saw where this was going, and it was not at all what she had intended. It was very like him to misinterpret her words in the worst possible way. She grimaced. Unfortunately, Cullen took her consternation as rebuke, and stiffened his posture a little more.

"My behavior has been entirely unprofessional, and unfitting for the Commander of your forces."

"Cullen—"

"I will endeavor to correct this shortcoming in the future. I assure you, Inquisitor, I will not let my personal feelings become a distraction, or interfere with—"

" _Cullen._ "

He broke off. "My lady?"

Sweet Andraste, she had made a mess of this. His voice was hollow, tinged with resignation and a trace of dread. That was _not_ how she wanted to hear him speak those words. Kelandris let out a breath, running a hand through her hair as she silently berated herself.

"I have given you entirely the wrong impression, I'm afraid. I have no desire to reprimand you. As a matter of fact, I intended just the opposite. I wanted to invite you to continue, if you take my meaning?" She waited, expectantly. Cullen managed to return his gaze to her face after a moment, but there was still anguish lurking behind his eyes.

"I'm... afraid I don't quite follow, Inquisitor," he said at last.

"Oh." She blinked. This conversation had turned out to be much more troublesome than she had expected – she did not normally have such difficulty talking to Cullen. Why was it so hard to just be direct? "Well, I have rather enjoyed your attentions. I thought that you and I, could, perhaps... engage in some more unprofessional behavior. Together." That was not direct, damn it. "As a couple." That was better. But her Commander was staring at her, now, expression unreadable. The silence stretched – Kelandris felt a pang of uncharacteristic alarm. Had she completely misconstrued his intentions? She would not have thought she could be so totally off the mark, but it was certainly possible... The idea hurt far more than it should have. Uncertain, she hastily amended her statement, words spilling out in a rush. "Only if you were interested, of course. I would understand if you wanted to keep things professional between us. I had assumed otherwise, but obviously I could be mistaken – I certainly do not wish to be presumptuous..." She trailed off, hoping he would say something, anything. She was not used to being this anxious. It was not a pleasant feeling.

"Inquisitor, I... I don't know what to say." His hand rose again to his neck in his habitual gesture of discomfort. Kelandris swallowed, throat gone suddenly tight with disappointment. That was that, then. She had been so sure... Before she could do more than draw a shaky breath, however, she saw his bashful smile, peeking out from behind his fur mantle like sunlight through the clouds. He was eyeing her sidelong, expression slowly brightening with something that looked very much like hope. The sight left her giddy with relief. A brilliant smile broke through her usual reserve, and Cullen stilled, eyes going to her lips and lingering there.

"You could say yes," she suggested eagerly.

His gaze flicked up from her mouth to her eyes, then away. "I can't say I haven't imagined what that would be like." He sounded dazed, like he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Kelandris wanted him to believe every word.

"So what's stopping you?" She took a step closer, leaning against the battlements in front of him.

"You're the Inquisitor. We are at war, and... I didn't think it was possible. I'm just... just a glorified ex-Templar, struggling to do something right for a change, and you..." He shrugged helplessly, shaking his head. "You're always so assured, so poised. You don't need someone like me holding you back."

"Holding me back?" The notion would have been laughable if he wasn't utterly serious. "Cullen, I can be this confident because I know I have the support of everyone here. Including you. Especially you. You have so much faith in our cause, so much faith in _me._ It's inspiring." It was true. Having the Inquisition at her back was empowering. And with the unwavering trust of her Commander to steady her, the Inquisitor knew she would not falter. She rested a hand on his shoulder to emphasize her point, fingers sinking into the thick fur of his mantle. Cullen's breath caught, at her touch or her words, she wasn't sure. He reached up to brush the back of her hand with the tips of his fingers, hesitantly, as if afraid she might snatch it away if he moved too quickly. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and full of wonder.

"I... inspire you?" She nodded, and was rewarded with an achingly sweet smile. The incredulous question made her heart constrict. His self-doubt stood in such stark contrast to his decisive, confident manner in the war room. Silently, Kelandris made herself a promise: that she would prove to Cullen his own worth. She would show him that he deserved her, at every opportunity, over and over again until he believed her.

"I want to be with you, Cullen."

He raised his eyes to hers, finally. He met her earnest gaze, and for once did not look away. "I'd... hardly dared to hope— it seems too good to be true," he all but whispered.

In response, she smiled, cocked her head, let her hand slide down his arm until she could interlace her fingers with his. "And yet I'm still here."

"So you are," he breathed, grip tightening in hers. He took the last step to close the distance between them, and seemed emboldened when she did not draw away. "It seems almost too much to ask..." A slow smile was spreading across his face. Her heart beat a little faster at the sight. Her Commander leaned closer still, and finished his sentence: "But I want to." His free hand rose to brush her cheek, gentle as a sigh, achingly tender. She tilted her face up to his—

"Commander!"

The moment shattered around them, splintering into jagged shards of emotion that shredded their hard-won intimacy like broken glass. Shock, anger, disappointment— Kelandris saw her own reactions mirrored in Cullen's expression, before he turned sharply away. His hand ripped from hers as he rounded on the obliviously approaching scout. His movements were quick and controlled, every line of his body rigid with suppressed fury. The Inquisitor brought her suddenly empty hand up to rake through her hair – she needed something to occupy it so she wouldn't reach for a blade. She could _not_ draw steel on her own messengers, no matter how poor their timing – she was the Inquisitor, not a drunken soldier in a tavern brawl.

The unlucky messenger in question was babbling on about the report clutched in his hand. Her Commander cut him off with a snarled, " _What?_ " The scout faltered, and she felt a moment of visceral satisfaction. It was eclipsed a moment later by furious exasperation, when the fool man did not immediately depart.

"Sister Leliana's report? You wanted it delivered 'without delay'..." The scout trailed off as Cullen prowled towards him, expression thunderous, looking for all the world like a lion stalking a particularly obtuse gazelle. If _this_ was the quality of the Inquisition's scouts, the Inquisitor would have to have a word with her Spymistress. "Or... to your office. Right," the hapless messenger mumbled, shrinking back. Her Commander stood for a moment, one hand curled tightly around his pommel. She wanted to go to him, to grab his shoulder and spin him around, shove him back against the battlements and press her mouth to his before duty called him away— 

But of course duty came first. Duty _always_ came first. She would not keep Cullen from his, even if all she wanted was to finally, _finally_ , taste him, to claim him and be claimed in turn— but the Inquisition did not rest, and if her Commander had some urgent matter to attend then she would let him go. She sighed, looked away, and dragged her hand out of her hair.

"Cullen, if you need to—"

He kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am unspeakably cruel. #sorrynotsorry
> 
> Don't worry, you'll hear about that kiss in exquisite detail next chapter. But first, I demand tribute in the form of kudos and comments! (Not really, I'll try to post soon regardless. But it would definitely make me super happy <3)


	4. Five Seconds Earlier...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're welcome! This was a lot of fun to write :D

He had been so close. Cullen stared unseeing at the hapless messenger's retreating form. He had been _right there_ , mere inches separating him from the love of his life. It was close enough to smell the lilacs in her soap, to feel her breath as she exhaled, to see her lips part ever so slightly in anticipation— and then that _cursed_ scout just had to interrupt, to ruin the moment, to ruin _everything_ —

He heard the scuff of leather on stone as she shifted awkwardly behind him. She started to say something, but Cullen wasn't listening. She was going to leave, to make some excuse and beat a hasty retreat, and he knew, he _knew_ , that if he lost this chance he would never have the courage to seize another, and if he didn't kiss her _right now_ he would regret it the rest of his life, assuming he didn't just combust from the roaring heat she kindled in his veins—

His lips met hers.

Cullen stopped worrying. For once, he let go of his racing thoughts and let himself simply _feel_.

She tasted like sun-bleached stone with a hint of Embrium. Her hair smelled of autumn leaves as it tumbled about them both, caught by the cold wind. Her face was warm, though, even through his gloves. And her lips...

She did not yield beneath his touch, did not melt into his embrace and surrender her mouth to be plundered. No, instead, she wrapped strong hands around his upper arms and pressed herself tighter against him. Her lips were firm and demanding, hot with an ardor that matched his own. Her passion stoked his inner fire till he blazed. For one endless, blessed moment, all his doubts and insecurities vanished, reduced to nothing but ash in the flames of his desire.

Finally, lack of air drove them apart. With renewed breath came renewed thought, and a touch of chagrin at his forwardness.

"I'm sorry," he blurted, though he wasn't, not really, "That was... um..." Incredible, glorious, wonderful... "Really nice."

Maker's breath.

The Inquisitor seemed not to mind his fumbling, thankfully.

" _That_ was what I wanted," she purred. She was radiant, cheeks slightly flushed, kiss-swollen lips curled into a thoroughly satisfied smirk. He could happily stare at her all day, drinking in her beauty like he was dying of thirst. Lost in the sight of her, it took a moment for her words to register. When they did, he thought his heart might just burst with joy right then and there.

"Oh," he said, or maybe gasped. He wasn't sure, and didn't care. She wanted this. She wanted _him_. "Good." He thought he should say something else. Something that expressed how much she meant to him, or how happy he wanted to make her. He seemed to be having even more trouble with words than usual, though. A distant part of his mind noted that he was simply standing there, grinning like an idiot, and that he really ought to do something about that. He wasn't sure what would be appropriate – his brain seemed to have stopped functioning entirely. But, the Inquisitor's face was still cupped in his palms, lips hovering enticingly just a few scant inches from his...

Maker's breath, she was irresistible. But Cullen had no desire to resist. He kissed her again.

~~~~~

If Kelandris had known her Commander was this good at kissing, she would have sought him out a long time ago. The first time he pressed his lips to hers, it had been rough and ardent, burning with a sort of desperate longing that she was more than willing to sate. They had not so much kissed as devoured each other, full of scorching need and fervent triumph. But the second time... The second time kept all the heat of the first with none of the sharp edges. Cullen kissed her gently, slowly, sweetly. His hands slipped from her face to curl around her, one twining through her hair while the other dropped to the small of her back. She ran her palms up his breastplate in turn, fingers clasping behind his neck. Their blaze of mutual passion had subsided to smoldering embers – Kelandris felt the warmth of it radiating from her chest.

A moment later Cullen pulled her tight against him, and she rewarded him by tracing his lips with languid strokes of her tongue. When she lingered over his scar, he hummed against her. The rumble of his voice drew a little noise of pleasure from deep in her throat. For another few heartbeats, they savored each other, lips joining and rejoining in a steady, contented rhythm. When at last they parted once more to draw breath, she smiled up at her Commander with half lidded eyes, practically purring with satisfaction.

"Now _that_ was a kiss," Kelandris murmured, low and sultry. She leaned her head against his shoulder; his mantle tickled her cheek. She did not mind in the slightest – she had often wondered what it would feel like to bury her face in the rich fur. Now she knew: it felt wonderful.

"Oh," he said again. She suppressed an undignified giggle at her newfound ability to render him speechless with a kiss. It was a rather heady feeling. "Um, I'm sorry," he continued incongruously, "And, thank you. That was... Nice. Again. Still. Maker's breath, I'm terrible at this, aren't I?" Kelandris pulled back to stare at him. He was blushing, of course, but at least this time he managed to meet her gaze.

"Cullen," she began incredulously, "Why in the name of Andraste are you apologizing? That was incredible."

His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of crimson. "Er, for... not kissing you like that the first time?" He explained tentatively. Kelandris chuckled, shaking her head fondly.

"It was different, to be sure, but no less incredible. In fact, don't know which I liked more," she added, smiling. "I suppose we will just have to try it both ways until I decide. Several times. For due diligence, of course."

Cullen's eyes darkened, fingers tightening in her hair. His voice dropped to a husky rumble that sent a tendril of warmth down her spine to pool in her belly. "Now that could certainly be arranged, my lady." Sweet Maker, did he have any idea how devastatingly seductive that was? He dipped his head to kiss her again, but she put a hand on his cheek, stopping him through a supreme effort of will. As much as she might want to, they could not spend all day kissing out on the ramparts. The potential for awkward situations was too high, as the scout from earlier could no doubt attest. Still, she was not finished with her Commander yet, however.

"Not here – I don't want to get interrupted again. We should find someplace more private."

"Oh, right. Of course," he agreed hurriedly. With a look on lingering regret pasted all over his face, he disentangled himself and moved to step away. Before he could, Kelandris grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together, flashing him another smirk as she did so. There was no way she was letting him go that easily. Now that their lips were no longer melded together, however, Cullen's sudden spark of alluring self-assurance had been replaced by his earlier hesitancy. Kelandris led them to the stairs – there was an unused guardroom they could use at the bottom of the nearby tower – and he trailed after her, casting disbelieving glances at their clasped hands all the way. She sighed quietly to herself. She would have to do something about that.

When they reached the alcove sheltering the tower door, she tugged her Commander aside, tucking them both into a corner sheltered by the outer walls. She rose up on her toes to stare directly into his eyes, balancing with her free hand against his chest. He looked back at her curiously, but a trace of anxiety was evident in the lines of his face.

"Cullen," she said with quiet intensity, "This is what I want. Truly."

"You – you're sure?"

"Absolutely positive." She paused, eyes narrowing. "You—" she kissed his cheek, "—are—" another kiss, pressed to his jawline, "—mine," she finished, nearly growling against his ear. His breath escaped in a rush as she planted a last quick kiss underneath his earlobe. When she drew back to look at him, his eyes were wide. She held his gaze, trying to impress upon him, through sheer force of will, that she was utterly sincere. At last the uncertainty faded from his eyes. His scar twitched as the beginnings of a smile tugged at his lips. Kelandris felt his free hand curl around her hip as her expression relaxed.

"I rather like the sound of that," Cullen murmured.

Her eyes lit up – she had dearly hoped he would. "Do you now?" She asked, coyly.

He acquiesced, smiling fully now, and bent his face to hers. Once again, she stopped him, fingers splaying gently over his lips. She nodded at the door beside them. "Not yet. Inside. And then, you can kiss me again – like you did the first time."

He nearly leapt to open the door for them both as soon as she finished speaking. "It would be my pleasure." His eager grin matched hers as they ducked through the entrance together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not done yet, cause you can never have enough sappy conversation between Cullen and his lady love. And also kissing. (I'm really, really proud of those kisses.)


	5. Less Brooding, More Flirting

The moment the door shut behind the pair of them, Cullen had the Inquisitor pressed up against it, his lips seeking hers urgently. She was intoxicating. _"Kiss me like you did the first time,"_ she had said, and he was more than happy to obey. She extricated her hand from his and immediately slung her arms around him. Her mouth captured his, insistent and demanding. This time, it was her fingers that tangled in his hair. When she yanked him closer, he was forced to brace a forearm against the door behind her to avoid crushing her between the wood and his armored chest.

As much as he appreciated her fervor (and he did – very, very much), he was not fond of the way she had him pinning her to the rough wood. Too many of his darker memories involved walking past shadowed alcoves and dead-end corridors, studiously ignoring the menacing figure in Templar armor pressing a slighter form in Circle robes up against a wall... Cullen broke away from the Inquisitor with a gasp, tugging back against her grip on his curls. She let him go immediately, a slight frown creasing her forehead.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "Was that too much?"

"No. I mean, yes. I mean—" Would he ever stop putting his foot in his mouth? He took a steadying breath. "I like the passion, I just— I don't want to be rough with you." He wanted to treat her like she deserved to be treated: respectfully, reverently, lovingly. He would worship her with lips and tongue, show his undying devotion with every caress, every brush of his fingers on soft skin. He trailed a knuckle down the side of her face with the utmost tenderness, showing in gesture what he couldn't express in words. "I never want to be rough with you."

"Ahh," she sighed, in understanding and – he hoped – pleasure at the caress. "Of course. I apologize, that was insensitive of me. We can stick with gentle, then." She matched actions to words, catching his hand before he could lower it and placing a kiss lightly in his palm. His lips twitched into a small smile at the gesture, which only widened when she stepped away from the door to stand against his chest. He encircled her waist in his arms, and was pleasantly surprised when she leaned her head against his shoulder, as she had on the ramparts. It was so nice to simply hold her.

Her hair tickled his cheek. On impulse, he kissed the top of her head. When he ran a hand up her back, admiring the toned muscles under her skin, he was rewarded with another sigh – definitely pleasure, this time. The sound chased away the last vestiges of his discomfort.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured. After a moment, he added a quiet, "My lady," remembering the way her eyes lit up at the title. She raised her head, and the smile spreading across her face made his heart skip a beat. Then he stopped paying attention to her smile, because her mouth was on his once again, and his eyes had drifted closed, seemingly of their own accord. True to her word, the kiss was soft and sweet. The slick sounds of lips on skin were punctuated by little noises of pleasure from them both, soft humming and breathy sighs and a low chuckle from the Inquisitor when she captured his lower lip between her teeth and nibbled gently. Cullen moaned unashamedly at that, arms tightening around her. He would have to find a way to make her moan, as well. Too soon, they parted – this would be so much better without such trivial concerns as breathing getting in the way – and he rested his forehead against hers.

"You know... We don't have to be gentle all the time," he said hesitantly after a moment. It was easier to speak candidly when he wasn't looking at her. "If you wanted— I mean, I find I've rather liked it when you get... fierce, like that. Just, well... What I'm trying to say is that if someone is getting pinned to a wall, it certainly shouldn't be you. But that doesn't mean that I don't, ah..." He trailed off as his mind caught up with his tongue, feeling rather foolish. The way his cheeks were flaming, he was sure they must match the scarlet of his surcoat. As usual, however, the Inquisitor took his words in stride – nothing he said ever seemed to phase her, even when he was tripping over his words like a nervous recruit (for which he was incredibly grateful).

"So I should pin you to the wall instead? I will certainly keep that in mind." There was an edge of laughter in her voice, but Cullen didn't feel like he was being mocked. It was more like she was holding back one of those rich, sultry chuckles, the sort that sent a pleasant shiver all the way down his spine. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"You don't find that... strange, o-or depraved, or anything?"

"No, of course not." She shifted her head to glance at him, but he was suddenly fascinated by a spot of rust on the door fittings behind her, and did not catch her eye. "There's no shame in wanting such things. I will admit I was sorely tempted, earlier, to just shove you up against the battlements and kiss you silly, once that scout had left... That was not the first time, either. Sometime you should ask me what I was thinking about in the bath, as well." Her voice had that seductive edge again. Cullen was relieved – she seemed to find the whole thing completely unremarkable. He felt confident enough to stop studying the doorframe and look at her.

"Oh? What were you thinking about?"

She smiled like a cat contemplating a particularly delicious bowl of cream. "You, of course."

He had figured as much, but hearing it still made him glow inside. "Dare I ask, what about me?"

Her answering chuckle was downright sinful. "Someday, I will tell you. But not right now. I'm enjoying this too much." She tucked her head back under his chin, nuzzling at his neck. He smiled and kissed her hair again – he knew exactly what she meant. He was still marveling at the feel of her, the fact that he was holding her in his embrace, and – most amazingly of all – that she wanted to be there. How often had he dreamed of such a thing, never quite daring to think on it too long, lest he spiral down into a morass of impossible "what-if"s and "could-be"s? But it wasn't impossible, not anymore, and he had no need to dream when the Inquisitor was here, now, in the waking world with him. She was warm and solid in his arms. Cullen breathed in the crisp scent of her, felt the brush of her soft lips against his neck – surely, this was paradise. He wanted this moment to last forever.

It couldn't, of course. Outside this room, time rolled on, and the Inquisition with it. They would have to resume their neglected duties before too long. But he had the memories of this afternoon to sustain him, now. Even if their time together could only be a few stolen moments, it was more than he had ever hoped for. He intended to savor every minute of it, until... until what? He had never considered where things might go between them – there had not been any reason to, before. He had never let his thoughts go that far. But now... He was not so naive as to imagine that they could have a future together. She was the Inquisitor, and a lady as well – she was destined to be matched with some noble lord, someone with a spotless pedigree and heaping piles of gold that she could secure for their cause, not some no-name farmer's son from backwater Honnleath. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. He prayed that their time together wouldn't be over too quickly. He knew he wasn't good enough for her, that she deserved someone suave and confident, untroubled by endless nightmares or the constant yearning for lyrium's siren song, but he would settle for a few months of bliss, at least, before—

"Cullen?" Her voice pulled him out of his reverie, and he realized he had been clutching her too tightly, breath ragged. He hurriedly loosened his grip. Before he could apologize, she took his stubbled cheeks in both hands and met his eyes squarely once more. "You're brooding again. Stop it – I'm not going to change my mind about us. I promise."

He gave a halfhearted smile which faded quickly. "I'm sorry. I'm... I suppose it must be obvious that I'm rather horribly insecure about all this. It's just that... I've never cared about anyone the way I care about you. And every time something in my life has started going right for a change, I've somehow managed to ruin it – I'm terrified that I'll mess this up, too."

"You won't." She spoke with utter certainty, not a shred of doubt anywhere in her voice or her expression. Hearing that confidence, looking into her eyes, full of nothing but faith and affection, Cullen thought he could come to believe it. And yet...

"How can you be so sure?" His voice sounded wretched and needy to his own ears. Here they were, alone in an out-of-the-way corner, wrapped in each other's arms, and he was practically begging for reassurance, instead of treasuring the moment like he should be. It was hardly romantic. But it seemed the Inquisitor had endless patience for his wallowing – her gaze did not waver.

"Because, just as you are mine, so am I yours."

His breath caught. She proclaimed it as if it were the Maker's own truth, the most natural thing in the world. As if anything that might try to part them was completely incomprehensible. And... she _was_ his. His Inquisitor, his lady, his love. Just as he was hers, body and soul, for as long as she would have him. Cullen was in awe of her, her conviction, her trust, her ability to pierce through all his uncertainties and say exactly what he needed to hear. He swallowed.

"I will try to be worthy of you."

Her eyes went soft. "Oh, Cullen," she breathed, brushing her thumbs along his cheekbones, "You already are." It was such a sweet gesture – reassuring, intimate, caring... Maker's breath, she was amazing. He bowed his head to her; she lightly bumped his forehead with her own.

"Besides," she continued in a lighter tone, "I won't let you go so easily. Now that I finally have you, I intend to keep you. So no more worrying – for the next hour, at least."

That won her a chuckle at last. "I'll see what I can do, my lady Inquisitor."

Her easy grin lifted his spirits further. With a little mental effort, he shook off the rest of his melancholy. This reprieve from duty and the demands of the Inquisition would not last forever – it would be foolish to squander the rest of it with moping. Cullen set aside his doubts, and let himself enjoy the moment. The Inquisitor was here with him, they were alone... It was hard to be gloomy when she was smiling up at him, one hand moving from its place against his cheek so she could trace his lips with gentle fingers. He nipped at one, playfully; she actually giggled. The sound brought a silly grin to his face.

"I have to say, I've wanted to hear you call me 'My lady' for a while," she confessed, once her laughter had subsided. "As much as I appreciate the title, though, it _would_ be nice to hear you say my name every now and then..."

"Oh! Yes, of course." He blinked – now that she had called attention to it, Cullen realized she was right: he actually hadn't ever used her given name. That was easy enough to fix. He was more than happy to do so – she had a beautiful name, fitting for such a beautiful woman. But before he did...

He schooled his face to solemnity, freeing one arm so he could capture her hand and press her palm to his breastplate, directly over his heart. "My sincerest apologies, Lady Trevelyan," he intoned. She frowned, taken aback by the formality. As she opened her mouth to protest, however, his lips twitched, betraying him. She paused, eyeing him critically with one eyebrow raised. Finally, she gave in to his teasing and laughed. Dropping his serious expression, Cullen joined in, the mingled sounds of their mirth bouncing around the small space. It was nice to share a joke with her – not everything had to be either blistering passion or serious, official business. He still owed her a name, however. Once the echoes faded, he used his now-free hand to brush her hair back from her face.

"Kelandris," he uttered reverently, and pressed a kiss to her brow. "I am yours."

He was hers, and she was his. The more he thought it, the truer it felt – and Cullen decided that maybe, just maybe, everything would work out alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, that's definitely Sub!Cullen. <3
> 
> I just want to give him a hug and be like, "Don't worry, Cullen honey, in a few cutscenes she'll be madly in love with you!"
> 
> *sound of someone clearing their throat pointedly* I mean... I just want the Inquisitor to give Cullen a hug. I wouldn't dream of taking him from you, Kelandris. (please don't kill me)
> 
> I've probably got one, maybe two more chapters in me. Maybe one and a bonus scene or something.


	6. ...And More Kissing

The sound of her name on Cullen's lips was surely the sweetest thing she had ever heard. He said it like a caress, like a prayer, and it made her shiver deliciously.

"Say it again?" She requested, grinning rather stupidly. He obliged, and then did it again without prompting, a joyful litany full of wonder – _Kelandris, Kelandris, Kelandris_. She sighed happily.

"Cullen," she said his name back to him – she had been using it for a while, so it probably had less impact than hers, unfortunately – "My Commander." To her pleasant surprise, however, he looked inordinately pleased.

"I like the way you say that."

Oh. Now that she could work with. Kelandris cocked her head playfully. "Say what, my Commander?" She deliberately dropped her voice to the most seductive purr she could manage. Cullen sucked in a breath and licked his lips, eyes widening. She had been trying to tease him, but the sight of his tongue running over his scar had much the same effect on her as her voice had on him.

" _That_ ," he growled. The deep rumble seemed to sink straight through her, turning her bones to water as it went. Apparently his voice had that effect on her, as well. She let out a slightly breathless laugh.

"There's a bench behind you – we should probably sit before we make each other too weak at the knees."

Cullen plopped down with a chuckle and a clang of metal; she curled up next to him, wrapping both hands around his bicep possessively. Naturally, they kissed again – she could hardly keep her mouth off him. He felt so right against her. Kelandris did not think she would ever get tired of kissing him. And it only seemed to get better every time: they had each other's measure, now. Each could play the other's mouth with fervent strokes of lips and tongue, building to a slow, thrumming crescendo. He coaxed a gasp from her; she wrote a counterpoint with his groan. Together they penned another movement in their symphony of mutual pleasure, happily losing themselves for another few moments in the music of desire.

Afterwards, she simply looked at him for a while, cataloging his features. There was that wicked little scar, of course, but she hadn't had much chance to appreciate the rest of his face. The strong line of his jaw, shaded with a rugged dusting of stubble (it rasped exquisitely against her cheeks when they kissed); a sturdy brow and thick golden eyebrows, currently raised in an unspoken question as he noticed her stare; broad cheekbones flushed an adorable shade of pink under her scrutiny.

"I'm admiring the view," she explained. He ducked his head to hide his bashful grin, blushing a shade darker.

"I could say the same – like what you see?" He asked shyly. Her appreciative chuckle was muffled against his furry cloak as she leaned in to nuzzle his cheek.

"Very much so. I'm surprised you don't have half of Skyhold trailing after you like eager puppies."

"Maker's breath, I'd never get anything done!"

He looked so comically horrified at the thought that she couldn't help but grin, smothering another giggle against his shoulder. He looked down at her, eyebrows arching in mock outrage.

"Are you laughing at me, Inquisitor? That's not very nice, you know."

"Sweet Maker, your face—!" She bit her to stifle the laughter still bubbling up inside her. But Cullen was relentless in his teasing. Wherever this playful streak had come from, she definitely liked it.

"Oh, so you find that funny, now, do you? And here I thought you enjoyed my face. Pity, I suppose. Though it will certainly cause no end of problems in the war room, if the sight of my face makes you laugh, now. Perhaps I should start wearing a mask like the Orlesians?"

Kelandris clapped a hand over her mouth in a futile attempt to muffle her fit of mirth. The image of her serious, down-to-earth Commander wearing full armor topped with a dainty filigreed mask was just too much. He sighed theatrically as her giggling continued. How he was managing to keep a straight face, she could only imagine.

"Well, if it's that amusing, a mask might not be sufficient. I'll just have to wear a burlap sack over my head, or else I'll end up crippling the Inquisition by incapacitating its Inquisitor."

"Stop, stop!" She gasped, panting for breath between bouts of laughter. Cullen grinned at her, eyes dancing. Slowly, she caught her breath, basking in the warmth of his smile.

"Thank you," she said at last, squeezing his hand, "I needed that."

"Me too. And you're very welcome." His wicked grin shifted into a lopsided smile that could only be described as _dreamily besotted_. "I like seeing you laugh. It's, you're... " He glanced away, then back at her sidelong, cheeks flushing. "Well, _beautiful_ hardly seems adequate. Not for you."

"Cullen... You are incredibly sweet, did you know that?" She turned his face towards her with gentle fingers under his chin. Her lips ghosted over his in a kiss as soft and jewel-bright as a butterfly's wings. Another endless moment passed, stretching and glittering like gossamer in the sun. Finally, the Inquisitor broke away with a sigh.

"It's been a little while, we should probably go back... I want nothing more than to stay here with you, but I'm sure we both have important work to do..."

His sigh was heavier and more plaintive than hers. "Yes, unfortunately. Can I— would you grant me the honor of one more kiss before we part, my lady Inquisitor?"

It would take a far stronger will than hers to resist that pleading gaze. Especially when he asked so nicely. She shifted around on the bench beside him, rising up on her knees to straddle his lap. After this, they would have little more than stolen moments for Maker-knew-how-long— they were both too busy for much else. If this was to be their last good kiss for a while, then by Andraste, she would make it count. Both hands grabbed his face; her mouth crashed against his. Gauntleted hands seized her hips and held fast, anchoring them together against their storm of rising passion. She leaned into him until his breastplate clanged against the wall behind them, pinning him there through sheer force of need; a groan rumbled from his chest like rolling thunder. His lips and teeth and tongue consumed her senses, melding and clashing with hers until lightning flashed behind her eyes. Only when they were both dizzy and gasping for air did they finally pull apart, and reluctantly at that.

"That... will have to hold us for a while," Kelandris panted.

"Maker's— Maker's breath," he managed, as breathless as she. She flashed him a grin and rested against him for a moment longer before climbing off his lap and heading towards the door with a final, bittersweet smile.

"Kelandris!" She turned at his call. He stared at her raptly for a moment; she fought the urge to preen. "I— I'll see you tomorrow?"

He would. And the next day, and the day after that, and every day from now until she had to journey away from Skyhold once again, when she would write to him as often as she could— Well. In any case. He would.

"Of course," she replied. She was his, now. And he was hers – her sweet, handsome, gallant Commander. It was a very, _very_ pleasant thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Pulls out a list entitled "Metaphors for kissing"* Let's see... fire, check. Music, check. Storms, check...
> 
> But srsly, apart from the one in my other fic I've never written kissing before, and all my experience is theoretical. I rather like being super cheesy and romantic and melodramatic about it, but I hope it's not too inaccurate?


	7. Good Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double chapter update bonus! This one's shorter.

They debriefed as usual the next morning. Well, almost as usual – Cullen found himself blushing and stuttering over his reports far too much, especially after catching the Inquisitor's knowing smirk across the war table. He studiously ignored Leliana's curious glances and tried to focus on the business at hand: thanks to the Inner Circle's latest efforts, the Venatori presence had been all but cleared out of the area around the oasis in the Western Approach. Besides the mysterious temple, though, there was little reason to care about that particular stretch of desert. The oasis was too far removed from the rest of the Inquisition's forces in the Approach to be of much use as a water source. While there were some potentially valuable mineral deposits, they were not plentiful enough to be worth establishing any sort of permanent operation there. A small presence might be useful to keep an eye on the temple (Cullen knew of one scout, in particular, who could do with some time away from Skyhold, preferably somewhere hot, dreary, and unimportant – although of course he had no personal stake in the matter), but maintaining anything beyond that would be more trouble than it was worth.

"Well then, it seems we are all in agreement," the Inquisitor concluded at last. "Josephine, don't forget to send a query to the University about that verse we found inscribed on the temple doors. And, Cullen – a word, if you've a moment?"

"Of course," he replied, trying to smile in a way that conveyed _professional interest_ and not _hopeless infatuation_. Judging from the way the other two advisors were tittering together as they left – with several backward glances – he hadn't entirely succeeded. Cullen felt his ears go pink.

"I think they're onto us," Kelandris remarked drily, coming around to lean against the war table beside him.

"I was hoping to avoid drawing attention to ourselves quite so soon, but I suppose it's futile to try to keep anything secret for long with the Left Hand of the Divine around... In any case, you had something to discuss?"

She gave him a slow, catlike smile, voice dropping half an octave. "Only that I have yet to receive a proper good morning from you, my Commander." Maker's breath, how could she undo him so quickly? One sentence, and he was already lost, reduced to basking in the light of her eyes, the curve of her lips, the sheer delight of her presence...

"Oh," he mumbled. That would never do – she wanted a proper greeting, not more of him making a fool of himself. Cullen pulled himself together. So she was going to be seductive this morning, was she? Well, two could play at that game...

He closed the distance between them in a single stride, cupping her face firmly in both hands. He kissed her slowly, languidly, caressing her with his tongue only to withdraw teasingly when her lips parted for him. She growled a little against him, and he he suckled at her bottom lip in reconciliation. Finally they parted with a wet little sigh. He kept close, staring deeply into her eyes.

"Good morning, my lady," he murmured huskily. Her pupils dilated slightly under his gaze. "Will that suffice?"

"Oh, yes," she replied breathlessly, "Yes, that will do nicely."

Cullen withdrew with a rumbling chuckle, gratified to see her swallow in response. A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips – _he_ had done that. He had taken her breath away, made her throat go dry with desire... That was all because of him.

He had a feeling that today was going to be a good day.

As he turned to go, however, a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned back around and Kelandris grabbed his chin, lips pressing to his for one more rough, blazing moment. If she meant to pay him back for his earlier kiss, then she had certainly succeeded.

"Mine," she growled, and let him go. "Now, off with you, we both have work to do," she added, waving him towards the door and reaching for the stack of reports near her spot at the war table. Cullen saluted her with a grin before heading back towards the training grounds where his recruits were waiting.

Today was going to be a very good day, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end, for now <3
> 
> At some point in the future I may write more of my headcanons for the pair of them, but it will probably not be for a while if I do. Apparently writing this much fluff messes up my internal angst-fluff balance, until all the pent-up angst breaks free at once and my writing gets super dark. (Yes, that was definitely a technical explanation and also completely scientifically accurate.) Not that it bothers me, mind you, both sorts of fic are a lot of fun to write.
> 
> Anyway, thank you all so much for reading and leaving kudos and comments! <3 <3


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